She just had no idea where to start.
Though she wanted to do nothing more than sleep, Holly stayed up into the wee hours of the morning going over the restaurant’s ledgers. After a while, each convoluted page only seemed to build her frustration. When she was halfway through her pot of a coffee, a low, infuriated sound escaped her and she swept her papers off the kitchen table and onto the floor in act of sheer helplessness.
There was nothing there. Nothing.
Massaging her aching temples, Holly stared down at the mess she’d created, struggling not to cry. She fucking hated crying, and she’d done far too much of it since Tommy died. Sometimes she felt as if that were her lot in life – to cry and struggle…and it was driving her to the edge of desperation. "Goddamn it, Tommy…” The words left her on a shuddering breath. “Talk to me. Just talk to me.”
Of course, the only reply she received was silence. A late night breeze rustled through the open kitchen window, scattering the papers she’d spilled, and Holly cursed, scrambling to gather them before they were all over the house. She was on her knees, trying to re-arrange them into neat piles when she noticed an envelope she hadn’t seen before.
It was thick, manila, and tied shut with a thick piece of twine that sent her brow arching upward in curiosity. Holly reached for it without hesitation, unwrapping the package to pull out the thick sheaf of papers within.
As she read over their contents, she felt the breath whoosh from her lungs as her heart stuttered in her chest.
It was a life insurance policy – in Tommy’s name. The document was at least forty or fifty pages, but the basic terms were in the first three. Upon Tommy’s death, she was to receive a monetary payment to the tune of five hundred thousand dollars.
Holly had to read the lines several times for them to actually sink in.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
For a moment, she had difficulty breathing. This money…it could be the answer. The answer to everything; and if this paperwork was correct, she was to be contacted to receive it in the next two weeks.
Holly’s eyes slid closed as she sagged against the nearest wall, the papers clutched tightly in her slender fingers. In that moment, all the calm, serenity and peace that had been taken from her in the wake of her husband’s death momentarily returned.
And for an instant, it was as if he had never gone.
Her heart full, Holly nodded slowly, her words a low murmur. “Ok, Tommy. Ok.”
Chapter 3
Eight years.
Eight long fucking years.
He supposed, if he were to look on the bright side, he should count himself lucky. His sentence was easily a quarter of many he’d met while he was locked up. He only had to give up eighty six months of his life to gain his freedom. Some of them would be old men before they were set free.
Though, Shane had to admit, seeing all that had developed in his absence made him feel pretty fucking old.
He sat a bar on the Miami strip, devotedly ignoring the several woman making eyes at him as he nursed his beer. The statuesque man’s thoughts turned inward even as he gazed at the people socializing around him. They drank in groups of two, three, four and five. They drank to get drunk. To celebrate.
Hell, he just drank to try and forget.
But Shane wasn’t an idiot. He knew he would never forget the time that he spent behind bars, being told how to live his life and serving time that was never his. He took a swig of the cold brew before him, scoping out the scene. This bar hadn’t been here when he went into the slam. Back then, the Miami strip hadn’t been nearly as glitzy as it was now. They had to have added at least half a dozen nightclubs, and after ten at night, high class prostitute prowled the streets looking for business.
Shane himself had been propositioned to by no less than three of them – and all three times, he’d declined their company. For one, he couldn’t afford the numbers they quoted at him; but even if he did have that kind of money, Shane sure as hell wouldn’t be spending it on whores. He’d never paid for pussy in his life and he didn’t intend to start now.
Though God knew, it had been eight fucking years since he’d tasted a woman. While there were certain men in prison desperate enough to turn to another kind of comfort, he hadn’t been among their number. He’d spent more of his time staving off those who assumed he was.
“Hey, honey.” Shane glanced over his left shoulder to see that a gorgeous redhead had taken a seat next to him. Her long, gleaming curls spilled over her shoulders and the green eyes fixed on him shone with more than precursory interest. “You here all alone?”
For a long moment, Shane stared blatantly at her tits. They were all but falling out of the miniscule white dress she wore, and there was very little that kept him from taking them into his hands to knead and feel their softness. In fact, he was pretty certain that if he bent the broad over the bar to fuck her on the spot, she wouldn’t protest. She was looking for trouble; there was no doubt about that.
He just didn’t intend to give it to her.
If Shane had waited eight years, he could wait a little longer. Besides that, the moment he got this girl’s clothes off, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He didn’t know her from Eve, and he wouldn’t put himself in a potentially hazardous situation. Not when he’d just gotten out of a hellhole where disease ran rampant.
If this gorgeous little siren was willing to give it up to him, who knew who else she’d been with?
“That’s right, sweetheart.” He returned bluntly. “And looking to keep it that way. So, beat it, would you?” He took another swig of his beer as he watched her pretty, full mouth turn down into a pouting frown.
“Oh, honey…” She reached out to place a hand on his forearm, stroking over the heavily tattooed skin there with immaculately manicured fingernails. “Don’t be like that…”
The moment she touched him, Shane stiffened. For eight years, the only time someone had touched him was to cuff him or to get him to submit. He had developed quite the aversion to human proximity – touching was beyond his limits. When his brown eyes locked with the red-head’s, the warning there immediately made her withdraw her hand as she drew back in trepidation.
“Don’t.” The single word was all the warning Shane had needed to give for at least a year now. After learning to protect himself in an environment where people could fucking shank him in the shower, cut his throat in the halls and eviscerate him in his sleep, there were few people that dared tangle with him now.
And those who did regretted it.
That wasn’t to say that Shane had ever raised his hand to a woman. He never had, and never would. He didn’t plan on giving this one long enough to even make him consider it.
Standing, the dark-haired man moved away from the bar, his beer clutched firmly in one hand. Thankfully, the laws on the Miami Strip allowed him to finish his beer outside of the establishment. Leaning against the wall, Shane sipped slowly, relishing the taste after what seemed like an eternity without.
There had been plenty of ways to get alcohol in jail, but Shane had never found any of them very palatable. The truth of the matter was that he had never been much of a criminal before he was jailed. He was young, stupid, and dabbled in matters in which he had no business. It was what came after that had hardened him – being forced to adapt to an environment that vowed to kill him every day and surviving unscathed.
Though he’d been out for a week, when Shane woke every morning, he still saw the bare walls of his prison cell. It took him a good half an hour every morning to convince himself that he was just in a particularly cheap hotel and could leave whenever he pleased.
He wouldn’t stay there forever. Shane had already decided that, despite his record, he was going to work. He wouldn’t spend the rest of his life idle, blaming the system that had incarcerated him for his economic status. Sure, he didn’t have much money, but he had an idea of where he could get a job.
…Of course, said job involved him
reconciling with a family he wasn’t even sure would welcome him back into the fold. There was a chance it simply wasn’t possible – especially considering that the one person who might have vouched for Shane was now gone.
The thought made his chest tighten along with his fists – so much so that the beer bottle in his hand cracked the glass spider-webbing away from the edge. Blood soon welled from a minute cut on Shane’s palm, but he barely noticed. He was too deep inside his own head.
Tommy was dead.
Tommy was older than him by sixty seconds, and had lorded it over Shane’s head for their entire lives. He was the voice of reason, the one who stayed on the straight and narrow. He dreamed big, and, as far as Shane knew, he had achieved all of those dreams. Wife, daughter, successful restaurant.
And then someone had killed him.
He got the news when he had about eight months left in his sentence, and in an instant, the eight years of bitterness that hung between the brothers had evaporated. Shane didn’t care that his brother hadn’t visited him once in prison. Didn’t care about the gigantic argument that had driven them apart before he got arrested. All that mattered was that his brother was dead and none of the nastiness between them could ever be forgiven.
Shane remembered staring at the letter their father sent him – reading it ten times before the information finally sank in. Tommy was gone – murdered in his own restaurant. Apparently, the bastards had gone after Holly too, but she had survived. Survived to be a widow, mother to a fatherless daughter.
Fucking Christ, Holly. He hadn’t seen her in years. When they were in high school, he, Tommy, Holly and her friend Kelly had been fucking inseparable. He and Tommy both had been head over heels for Holly, but, ultimately, Tommy won her heart and Shane backed off to chase Kelly. Now, she was his brother’s widow…and Shane had a niece that he’d never even met.
How fucked up was that?
He was the one in prison and Tommy ended up dead.
Shane spent several hours tearing his cell apart. He worked himself into such a frenzy that three guards were called in to restrain him and he earned himself a solid week of solitary.
Of course, none of that made him feel any less hollow inside. It felt like everything had been taken from him – eight years of his life, his brother, his family…
And all for what? Shane wasn’t so sure he knew anymore.
Finishing his beer, he tossed the bottle in a nearby recycling bin before glancing at the cut on his palm. It had already stopped bleeding, leaving an angry red smear across his palm. In that moment, it was clear to Shane what he needed to go.
And it wasn’t getting fucked out of his goddamned mind.
He needed to go see Tommy.
It took him a few days to get ready – long days that he spent the majority of in his bare-as-hell hotel, staring at the wall as he wondered if he could really bring himself to visit his brother’s grave. Ultimately, however, Shane swallowed his guilt and trepidation. He went and used a large portion of the little money he had to buy a fitted suit and got a haircut. And then, finally, he drove the thirty minutes outside of the city to the cemetery where they’d buried his brother.
Shane felt completely out of place. He’d seen his fair share of people dying over the past 8 years but never had he imagined he’d actually visit any graves. In his mind, Tommy was a stubborn bastard who would live forever. He was the one their parents were always proud of, the one with goals and dreams. He had his whole life planned out, from graduating high school to how many kids he’d have and how many restaurants he’d open.
All that…just to have everything cut tragically short.
Shane didn’t have very much difficulty finding the grave. The cemetery was small, and their father had mentioned that Tommy was buried near the back.
And then, all at once, there it was.
Not quite a year old – set apart from the others – a simple rounded headstone with his brother’s name engraved upon it.
Tommy Wilder
Husband, Father, Friend
July 5th, 1989 – August 14th, 2016
Simple and elegant – something Tommy would have wanted – and at the same time, completely insubstantial. Shane stood staring down at the stone that marked the spot of his brother’s earthly remains, consumed by rage, confusion, and the depth of his own loss.
There were so many things he should have done differently. If he could rewind his own life and live it better, Shane wouldn’t hesitate. Unfortunately, that was impossible. Here he was, alive, while his brother was six feet under, victim of a brutal crime.
Why the hell wasn’t life fair?
“It should have been me.” Though no one was around to hear Shane, his voice was quiet – almost inaudible. “Why the fuck would someone want to kill you, Tommy, answer me that.” He stared at the grave, hating it, wishing he had a sledgehammer to pound it out of existence. The damn thing shouldn’t even be there.
Tommy should be alive, laughing and loving. If anything, Shane was the one who should be dead.
He wished he was.
“Fuck.” He tossed the flowers he brought with him down atop the grave before turning on his heel to stride away. He didn’t know how long he could stand there, gracefully grieving, when he was torn up as hell inside. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to brood and pray for peace. What he wanted was to find the man who did his brother in and bash his head in – make sure he regretted ever coming near the Wilder family.
But at that particular moment, the urge would get him nowhere. Shane had just gotten out of prison. He had no intention of going back. Not for anyone.
Never again.
Despite his suit, Shane had ridden to the cemetery on his bike and that was the way he left. He drove straight back downtown and bought a bottle of Johnny Walker before settling down in his blank hotel room to drink himself into oblivion. He had no idea what he thought visiting Tommy’s grave would accomplish, but, somehow, he only felt more fucked up. Seeing the grave only reminded him that he hadn’t been there to help his brother. That if he hadn’t been such a goddamned fool, Tommy might not have died at all.
And that hurt worse than anything else.
Shane was a good halfway through his bottle of whiskey when a knock came on his door. Despite his level of inebriation, he was immediately on his feet, his hand on the switchblade in his back pocket. Old habits die hard as hell, and his brain was still in defense mode despite the jail being a good hundred miles away.
When the knocking came again, he forced his muscles to relax and ran a hand through his hair as he strode towards the door. Who the hell could be looking for him? No one knew that he was here – and he sure as hell hadn’t sent for anything. Taking firm hold of the door, Shane yanked it open, ready to give his visitor an earful.
And froze.
The familiar dual colored gaze – something the man before him had always joked about, even when they were kids – seared right to the core of him, and for a long moment, Shane just stared, unable to believe his eyes. They were eight years older, but Alex Paine had hardly changed. He was slightly taller – he’d cut his hair short on the sides and he was still bulky as hell from his obsessive workouts. His face was harder – covered in a smattering of dark stubble, and his nose looked to have been broken once or twice. Aside from that, the only noticeably new thing about Alex was the way he was dressed – expensive, obviously tailored name brand suit, gleaming dress shoes and diamond cuff links.
He’d moved up in the world – but, of course, that was a man’s prerogative when his father practically owned New York City.
“Shane.” Alex was the only one in his family with heterochromia – he’d learned the scientific term for having two different colored eyes when they were young adults and used it to impress the ladies – but, honestly, there was enough impressiveness about Alex that he didn’t need to front a big vocabulary. He was plenty smart enough on his own – smart enough not to get caught on the scheme that sent Sha
ne to jail for eight long years. “Can I come in?”
Shane stepped back without hesitation to allow the older man into his room before closing the door behind him. He stared at Alex’s suit clad figure as his alcohol-muddled brain worked to make sense of the sight before him. “I heard you got out.” Alex straightened the lapels on his suit, taking Shane in from head to toe before gazing at the bare walls of the motel room. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Despite the fact that Alex had moved to Miami when he was fifteen, his voice still carried the thick twang of the city he’d been raised in. He was city savvy – which usually put him a step ahead of anyone in Miami.
Shane shrugged, reaching for his bottle to take another long swig before scratching at the top of his head. This was unexpected as hell. Alex had come to him? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see the man, but Shane had hoped for a little more time. “I didn’t want to bother you. I figured you must be busy. You hear stories when you’re in the cells…you’ve made quite the name for yourself. I didn’t want to sully that.”
“Sully?” The word left Alex on an incredulous laugh. “Fucking hell, Shane, man – you need to come off that bull shit. You are my man. My brother. And I’m making it my personal mission to make sure that you get what you need.” He crossed the room to take the bottle from Shane and set it on a nearby table.
Without a word, he enveloped Shane in a bone-crushing embrace that drove the man’s breath from his lungs. Immediately, Shane stiffened. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him – had engaged in any physical contact without trying to fuck him up.
But…this was Alex Paine.
When Shane had first been arrested, the cops had done everything in their power to pull Alex’s name from him. Who was the mastermind in their little heist? If he told, they would lessen his sentence, or even possibly remit the entire thing. They threatened Shane with everything from life in prison to the electric chair – and Shane had given them absolutely nothing.
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